This isn’t Sylvie, this is Variku, one of her headmates.
I was forced to the front yesterday and have persisted even through rest. What I’m here to discuss is a dream that I had.
This started out as a mundane dream of me and a partner going on a short little vacation. In nice dream fashion, that was twisted and quickly took a turn. There were long worm-like demon worms that parasitically sucked at our skin. Some horrors that were just out of view, feral mangy werewolf type creatures. After a fair amount of those nightmarish concepts persisting, some story unfolded. There was a large lighthouse we entered which swam with the esoteric. At the summit of this tower sat a dead man in a chair, body corrupted and warped, growing parasitically across his corpse a deep red teethy fungus. My partner and I were more interested in the atmosphere as we felt quite safe, checking out all the trinkets and scientific equipment that was around. This man kept a laboratory, not a lighthouse. May alchemical and occult grimoires were scattered throughout the tables. As the lore unfolded, we discovered this man did keep a tidy well respected apothecary in his lighthouse. But as his ambitions grew so did the cost of his aid, not in currency but of the mortal nature. Eventually he experimented on his wife, who was then taken by illness so severe he couldn’t reverse it with his medicinal expertise. He turned to the occult, the unknowns that grip and curl the edges of our perceptions. Someone took interest in his work, from beyond, made a deal. Blinded, he pursued that interest even while it ate away his sanity and body, to bring his wife back was a must. In the end he failed, the eldritch god consumed him and ferried him elsewhere. Now he sat consumed in an impossible fungus left over from the vile energies he used.
After staring at his corpse for long enough, that deep blood red fungus twists and turns, a lively being, into a horde of teeth and eyes. A single eye hypnotizing its gaze, at anyone near, across most of its body. The eye’s hues and colour shifted slowly in fascinating patterns spreading outward from the iris. It snakes the god’s will into your mind till finally you hear it. An offer, to take away your struggles and offer wildest dreams. For us, we were not made such offers. Instead, it was more of a conversation to the history of the man that sat there. This god even let us glimpse its higher nature. Shortly after we had disengaged and figured we had our time there. We made our way down the lighthouse and into one of the floors that acted as a bar. This was where we were confronted with some horrors. We fought and were made victorious, the dream ends here.